


on cashmere and citrus (a story from floor 6)

by everythingFangirl



Series: when I'm with you, I can only be me (stories from the victors' tower) [7]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Lunch Club, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Bad Puns, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Friendship, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, just to end on a slightly happier note, rewrote the ending a tiny bit but not much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23742553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everythingFangirl/pseuds/everythingFangirl
Summary: When he had first seen the stylist they had assigned him, he had been surprised to see that the woman - girl? - couldn’t have been more than a few years older than him. He hadn’t bothered to catch her name, because what was the point? Back then, her presence had seemed almost trivial. But now, when Grace enters his room, Charlie can’t help but grin.
Relationships: Charlie Dalgleish & Grace Safford, No Romantic Relationship(s), i guess it can be read as romantic? but that's a slippery slope
Series: when I'm with you, I can only be me (stories from the victors' tower) [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715008
Comments: 11
Kudos: 84
Collections: victors' tower canon works





	on cashmere and citrus (a story from floor 6)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WreakingHavok](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WreakingHavok/gifts).



> Another work in WreakingHavok's AU, this one's shorter and basically written over the course of an hour or two. Technically, timeline-wise, it's a prequel to my first one (normalcy), but they can be read completely independently. The whole premise of this might be based on an idea that can be immediately decanonized by Havok, but oh well.
> 
> As always, if this crosses any boundaries or makes anyone involved uncomfortable, let me know and I'll gladly take it down.

Being awakened at 6 a.m. on his first morning on floor 6 isn’t exactly pleasant for Charlie. But when his door opens and his room fills with the chattering of his prep team, he does his best to blink the tiredness from his eyes and get himself ready. The process of getting him in his outfit and makeup may be inconvenient and irritating, but at least he’ll get to see the one person in the entire Capitol whose presence he actually enjoys.

When he had first seen the stylist they had assigned him, he had been surprised to see that the woman - girl? - couldn’t have been more than a few years older than him. It was her first time working on the Games, she had explained while walking him through her ideas for his parade costume. He hadn’t bothered to catch her name, because what was the point? Back then, her presence had seemed almost trivial. But now, when Grace enters his room, Charlie can’t help but grin.

When he had still been a Tribute and not a Victor, trying to rile up Grace had been one of his few sources of entertainment. Thinking of puns was a good way to distract himself from… well, from everything. Now, he supposed he was trying to distract himself from Ted and Noah’s practiced smiles, and Cooper’s restless gaze, and Alex’s smiling facade that certainly hid something beneath. Or from the jittering in his own limbs, the dark circles under his eyes (the result of a restless night), the anxiety gnawing at his stomach. But there would be time to think of that later. 

“There’s something you should know about the Victors’ outfits,” Grace says, buzzing around his room with the prep team, stern and practical as always. “The stylists don’t have as much control over these as they do for your pre-game and Victory Tour costumes. The President’s team picks out a brand for you that matches your strategies in the Games, and I have to stick to it.” 

Charlie suddenly feels a little sick, but doesn’t let his smile slip. “Well, you managed to make an outfit based on a forest look good. If anyone’s well- _suit_ ed to making the Slimecicle brand appealing, it’s you.” That much was true; Charlie had been the first District 7 tribute in years to not just be dressed as a straight-up tree, and he couldn’t be more thankful to Grace for that. (No matter the fact that whatever goodwill that had built up with the audience was immediately dashed when his training score was revealed.)

“Very funny,” Grace deadpans in response to his joke, pulling out elements of his outfit from various bags. It seems fairly understated, which Charlie supposes makes sense; a suit and a bow-tie in various shades of bright green, accented with black. “For any upcoming events and interviews, you might be able to loosen up a bit with the dress code, but the annual Victor welcoming ceremony is strict. At least until your floor stops being relevant, they want you to look your best every year.” Charlie frowns at the smiling green blob on the bow-tie one of the attendants shows him. His best. That’s funny. 

He can’t allow his mind to slip back to the Arena, so he keeps bugging Grace while his prep team attacks him with his outfit. “This whole ceremony thing seems a little off the _cuff_ , doesn’t it?” he asks at one point. “What exactly am I supposed to do? Nobody’s really told me anything yet.”

Grace begins explaining the timings of the event to him while powdering his face with a layer of foundation, then makeup in various shades of bright green. Charlie lets himself get lost in her words, her steady and practiced tone of voice, a pillar of stability in the mess his life had become lately. On his Victory Tour, they had spent hours talking on the train, and those converations may have been the only reason he had managed to keep up a smile during his speeches in the Districts. 

At one point, probably because he made another stupid joke, Grace throws a pair of shoes in his general direction. Charlie catches them, barely avoiding getting hit in the face, and starts to put one on. When he mumbles “Well, that just isn’t right,” Grace turns to him with concern, about to respond, until she sees his grin and the fact that he’s putting on his left shoe. Then she merely rolls her eyes. 

Eventually, an attendant sprays some kind of perfume on his neck and wrists. It has a clean, almost citrus-y scent, almost familiar - and Charlie feels a wave of nausea overcome him. No. Suddenly, he wants to scrub off the sickly green makeup, tear apart this lousy comfortable suit, this entire room, this entire city - but when he sees Grace’s wary, almost pitying look, he unclenches his fists and lets his hands drop to his sides. No, not today. Not here. He inhales through his mouth, trying to ignore the scent of the perfume. It’s only a costume, it’s only for a few hours, he can do this. Whatever happens, he can't let himself do anything that could harm Grace.

She steps forward, handing him one of those golden cue cards, then reaches up to adjust his bowtie. In that moment, when the prep team’s busy cleaning up and it’s just the two of them, she whispers “I’m sorry.”

And then it’s time. Charlie follows Grace and her crew into the hallway, heart aching at the thought of their familiar faces leaving once again. “You’ll be fine,” Grace says to him as she approaches the elevator. “I’m _root_ ing for you, tree boy.” Despite all of her earlier irritation, the smile that appears on her face is genuine. 

Charlie smiles in return. “Sorry you have to _leaf_ so soon.” 

He sees Grace roll her eyes again, but doesn’t miss her chuckle. “That was _acorn_ y, even for you,” she says right before the doors shut. Charlie’s left alone in the silent hallways of floor 6, but the sound of Grace’s voice echoing in his mind makes him feel just a little bit less alone.


End file.
